


dad, i know you're trying (to fight when you feel like flying)

by hollyhobbit101



Series: Whumptober 2020 [7]
Category: 9-1-1: Lone Star (TV 2020)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hospitalization, Hurt TK Strand, Lung Cancer, Terminal Illnesses, Whumptober, Whumptober 2020, hurt owen, please mind the tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:07:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26995666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollyhobbit101/pseuds/hollyhobbit101
Summary: This scene, T.K. thinks, is usually in reverse. His dad waiting byhisbed, holdinghishand, waiting forhimto wake up.But not this.Never this.
Relationships: Owen Strand & TK Strand
Series: Whumptober 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947304
Comments: 8
Kudos: 35
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	dad, i know you're trying (to fight when you feel like flying)

**Author's Note:**

> me? projecting? i would _never_ -
> 
> on a serious note, please, _please_ mind the tags. this fic came from an incredibly personal place and it has been heavily influenced by my own experiences. i do not claim to speak for everyone who has ever watched a loved one suffer through cancer, and i just want to make clear that a lot of what t.k. thinks and feels in this comes from my past experiences. 
> 
> written for day 13 of whumptober - oxygen mask & breathe in breathe out
> 
> title from unsteady by x ambassadors

This scene, T.K. thinks, is usually in reverse. His dad waiting by  _ his  _ bed, holding  _ his  _ hand, waiting for  _ him  _ to wake up. 

But not this.

Never this.

Absently, he feels guilty for forcing Owen through this so many times  _ (only three times, really, but three is far too many when it comes to this) _ . It is hell. Pure hell. He never wants to be here again, but he knows he will. There will always be a next time now.

_ (almost always) _

_ (there will be a last, eventually) _

They decided to stop the treatment a couple of months ago when it became clear that it was only delaying the inevitable. T.K. had argued at the time, begging Owen to keep trying,  _ please, god, please _ , just a little while longer. He couldn’t help but feel resentful when he refused.

He isn’t proud of that, though he knows Owen had understood. Still, even now, looking down at his father in the hospital bed, oxygen mask strapped to his face, eyes closed and deathly pale, T.K. can’t help but wonder about all the what ifs. 

If the treatment had worked like it was supposed to -

If Owen had given it another shot - 

(If he’d never been at the Towers at all -)

Where would they be?

T.K. is pulled out of his thoughts by movement from the bed. He’s immediately alert, gripping onto his dad’s hand as tight as he dares - which really isn’t that tight at all anymore. 

“Hey, Dad,” he says, trying his hardest to keep the shake out of his voice, blinking back the budding tears.

He knows Owen sees right through him, but he just smiles. “Hi, son,” he responds, muffled by the mask and the cancer. He reaches a hand up to push it aside, but T.K. stops him, his heart hurting at how easy it is. Owen has always been so strong, and he still is, but…

T.K. forces himself to keep smiling. “It’s okay,” he says. “Just breathe, Dad.”

Owen frowns, but lets it slide. They fall into a silence, broken only by the beeping of machines and the harsh sounds of Owen’s breathing.

T.K. can’t stand it.

“You know,” he starts, then winces at how loud his voice seems here. He clears his throat and adjusts his tone. “You know, the doctors say you might be able to come home soon. A few more days, maximum.”

It’s not entirely a lie. They’re not quite at that point yet, the point of a very literal no return, and this hospital stint is more of a bad phase than a death sentence. It’ll pass, for now, but they don’t know how long it will take. T.K. had lied about that part, though he doesn’t know why; his dad knows as well as he does that there’s no timetable for any of this. No matter what the doctors say, they don’t know when he’ll be okay enough to leave. They don’t know shit.

It’s that particular fact that’s fucking T.K. up the most. He likes to have certainty, to know when things are going to go to hell and when they’ll get better. He hates that he can’t have it.

But, he reminds himself, he should just take it as it comes. Owen can’t work anymore, but on good days he can still move around and do things. They’ve both noticed the good days getting fewer and further between, and hospital visits becoming more and more frequent, but they don’t talk about it.

_ “Focus on the good, T.K.,” _ his dad always tells him.

T.K. tries.

“You don’t have to be here, son,” Owen says hoarsely.

T.K. grits his teeth and shakes his head, resettling himself in his chair. “I don’t have a shift,” he reminds him. “Where else would I be?”

Under normal circumstances, T.K. knows, his dad would argue. Say that he should be out, living his life, and not worrying about his old man. Normal passed them by a long time ago, though. 

They talk for a little while - or, T.K. does. Owen mostly listens, too tired to really contribute. Eventually, he drifts off back to sleep, and T.K. can’t stop himself from watching his chest, making sure that it’s still moving, that his dad is still alive. 

The tears he’s been holding back for so long start to slip down his cheeks and, this time, T.K. makes no move to brush them away. 

**Author's Note:**

> i am accepting prompts on my tumblr @morganaspendragonss! come say hi!


End file.
